


in the end, everything's alright

by BrosleCub12



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kitchen Hijinks, M/M, Mistakes will be made, Neck Kissing, and that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12166893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrosleCub12/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: The moment Jack does it, he’s really not thinking.





	in the end, everything's alright

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fellow CP fans! So, it's been about a month since I discovered this fandom and honestly, besides providing comfort for me after I said goodbye to the wonderful job I've had for nearly three years, it's taken me over; I can't get enough of it and adore Jack and Bitty, so decided to have another go at writing them. It's rather standard fare, but I honestly adore these boys. 
> 
> For those wondering, this takes place in the late summer after Jack and Bitty's first kiss. Obviously, I don't own Check Please but I adore how interactive it is as a fandom. I'm British and I've not got a lot of skill writing American characters and this has been unbeta'ed, so constructive comments will be appreciated. 
> 
> TW: for a bit of accidental blood and some anxiety on Jack's part. Title inspired by the McFly song 'Only The Strong Survive.'

* * *

 

The moment Jack does it, he’s really not thinking. And that’s the terrible part.

There’s nothing terrible, however, about having Bitty in his apartment. Bitty hums and sways and sashays as he’s cooking; depending on his mood, he sometimes has his earphones in, sometimes not, losing himself in the music and losing himself in the baking. It depends on the recipe; he can make pies in his sleep, after all, although he occasionally has bad days when he’s tired or drained beyond anything that even baking can endure.

Still, it’s not actually baking today, it’s a lasagne and he’s listening to Jack’s radio as opposed to his iPhone, humming and murmuring to the swaying rock of Simply Red as he cooks them up a sauce. It’s fairly standard, but filling and Bitty’s on automatic as he chops onions and carrots and celery to add to the saucepan.

Which is why Jack should really know better. He’s just out of the shower, clean and dry and watching the way Bitty sways, absent-minded, without music in his ears for once and he. He _likes_ this. He likes these weekends they share, when they’re both free, when they can both just hide away from everything and just _be._ They’ve been together now for three-and-a-half months and their visits have been few and far between and they’ve talked, and kissed and kissed some more. It’s wonderful, having that presence here; having someone to fill up the space, both inside his living quarters and inside his own head.

Jack’s calmer now than he was before he met Bitty. His father has noticed and tipped him winks when his mother isn’t looking; Jack has flushed and dropped his gaze, as good as an admission and it makes his father grin, roguish but kind.

He approaches the counter softly, a smile on his face as he watches Bitty at work. The tawny hair clinging to the back of that nape, the skin of his neck like milky tea, the slight tan he’s picked up from home life back in Georgia and which always smells clean and comforting whenever he puts his lips there.

And Jack should really, really know better because obviously in hindsight, dipping his head to kiss Bitty’s neck when the other boy is holding a knife in his hand is in fact a Very Bad Idea. Bitty jumps a mile at the first contact and there’s a bounce, a scrape against the board and Jack veers back in alarm to see Bitty shoving his finger in his mouth, shaking a little.

‘Bits – ‘

‘Sorry!’ Bitty proclaims and why he’s apologising Jack has no clue. ‘I’m so sorry, honey, I just – you surprised me – ‘

‘No, no, don’t be sorry,’ Jack reaches a hand out and pulls Bitty’s finger clear. ‘Let me see, let me see…’

It’s a small cut, awkward, a sever against Bitty’s skin – not dangerous, but _bleeding_ and Jack wants to kick himself. _Idiot._

‘Here…’ he rushes Bitty over to the tap, a hand to his back; knows he shouldn’t fuss, Bitty’s patched them up before when they’ve had accidents at the Haus, bumps and bruises and cuts from other cooking disasters and horsing around and just generally being idiots and hell, _Bitty_ got a concussion from checking. He’s survived worse.

But Jack, in a moment of stupidity, has done this; in a truly foolish and clumsy attempt at affection.

‘I’m _sorry_ , Bits.’ He wipes his suddenly shaking hands down his jeans as Bitty runs his own trembling finger under the tap, the water doused just a little bit pink; it’s a small cliff-like cut, just underneath the skin and it looks sore but Bitty just pats his hand with his free one.

‘It’s fine, honey, don’t worry about it. I’ll live.’ He finds a smile for Jack, who busies himself with finding the first aid kit his mother absolutely insisted he needed for living here and which his dad backed her up on. And how glad he is now that they did.

It’s up on a high shelf and he wrenches it down, throws the lid open. His hand is still shaking as he rustles through it for plasters – _please please please_ – and he finds them, unwraps one clumsily, fingers trembling as though he’s the one who’s just been nicked.

_What have you done? What the **hell** have you just done? _

_It’s a cut,_ he tells himself, in a voice not unlike that of his therapist. _It’s a cut. Is it the end of the world? Will it matter in five years? Probably not._

But. It doesn’t change the fact that he just…

‘Jack, honey,’ Bitty soothes, putting a hand to his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, honey, I’m fine. Here, let me see those first-aid skills – I’m quite fond of a male nurse.’ He tips a wink at him, pats his hand dry with a piece of the kitchen roll that Jack keeps by the sink and smirks a little; Jack though, can’t, not even at the flirtatious quip and carries on feeling terrible as he carefully, ever so carefully, rolls the plaster over the cut. Too late, he realises it’s not a blue one and curses himself all over again – you’re meant to have blue for the kitchen, just in case it falls into the food…

‘There,’ Bitty smiles, gentle, and reaches up to kiss him. ‘No harm done. Thankyou, honey.’ He kisses Jack’s mouth, then his cheek and Jack wraps his arms around him, protectively, mind going a mile a minute.

‘I am so sorry,’ he whispers, feeling like a dog that’s completely missed the point of fetch. This is how he messes up, he thinks with a dull thud of remembrance. He remembers that night on the ice, last year, when Bitty went flying; that was one thing, that was bad enough and he felt for ages afterward that he was going to be sick, the defeat overshadowed by the horrifying sight of their friend going over. Of Bits hitting the ice, helmet falling off faithlessly and leaving him vulnerable on impact. Shitty had had to talk him through it – _can’t control everything man, we trust your game, we know you wouldn’t have wanted that_ – and it had taken him a long time to forgive himself for such a misjudgement, even though deep down, he knew that Shitty was right.

But he can’t even _kiss_ someone, it seems and avoid calamity. A misjudgement, a selfish moment of _maybe I could_ and he’s breaking everything he touches – his career, his long-life friendship with Kent, _Bitty -_

‘No, no,’ Bitty kisses him again, peppers his chin with his mouth. ‘No, honey, I see what’cha doing. Don’t go down that road. _Honey.’_ He puts both hands behind Jack’s neck, anchors him. ‘It’s just a cut. It’s not the end of the world.’

‘I should’ve checked,’ Jack admits, eyes on their feet, toe to toe and at any other point, the irony would have made him laugh, but now all he can think of is the blood, Bitty’s blood. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I – I should’ve checked what you were doing.’ He grips his hair, frustrated, wishing he’d just been a bit more sensible like he’s always encouraging everyone else to be. ‘I’m sorry, Bits.’

‘Honey, it’s fine that you want to kiss me!’ Bitty exclaims, sounding joyful of all things at the prospect. ‘I wish you would. I just didn’t hear you coming; I was in my own world there, wasn’t I?’

Jack huffs, closes his eyes, breathes – _inhale, exhale. Don’t go the other way. Don’t let the anxiety spoil this whole weekend._ It will, as well, if he doesn’t control himself, get himself back in line.

He breathes in their shared air for a moment and Bitty, clearly sensing what he’s doing, stays with him, rubs the back of his neck. Finally, Jack finds a weak smile and puts his hands on both sides of Bitty’s waist.

‘Suppose I’d better brush up on kitchen etiquette, eh?’ he manages and Bitty smirks a bit, shoulders rising a little, keeping him close.

‘Remember when I threw that flour at you when you were holding the pie?’ he chirrups then and it makes Jack laugh. He’s not sure how to tell Bitty that that’s one of his happiest memories of Samwell; spending time with Bitty outside the rink, essentially getting him to himself for a few hours, stupidly _possessive_ as the thought is. But it helps, the reminder of less-than-responsible previous kitchen hijinks, starts to shift that gear inside him that gets stuck every time he makes a mistake and he grasps the hand with the adorning plaster and kisses the knuckles.

‘You’re.’ _You’re lovely,_ he wants to say. _You’re forgiving and kind and you somehow find a way for me to place all the mistakes I make into a box so they don’t seem so bad and I’m so terrified I’ve messed things up already._

‘You’re a great cook,’ he says instead and Bitty puts his head to the side, wearing that look that says _Jack Laurent Zimmerman, you are not fooling me._ ‘It’s your thing. I should’ve known not to startle you – known _better.’_ He can’t believe that it’s Bitty comforting him rather than the other way around and he can’t help but equate what he just did with a year or so ago, when he and Bitty… weren’t quite friends, not just yet – although something like it, warming to each other after a rocky start. Or maybe it was simply _Jack,_ so caring is the other boy and so careless was Jack. He knows what Bitty means about caught up in his own world.

Bitty shrugs. ‘You know now. But don’t think you can’t come up to me in the kitchen. I just have to know you’re there, that’s all,’ he adds with a grin and then kisses Jack silent. _Case closed._ ‘That’s all, honey.’

*

The next time, Jack walks up beside Bitty and watches him kneading dough, the familiar cloud of flour from the pastry a soothing mixture in the kitchen. Bitty doesn’t even look up, just grunts and keeps kneading. He does it so skilfully; like he’s been doing it since he was born. Curious and finding the movement soothing, shutting off the noise of being outside, Jack leans on his elbows and just… watches, lets himself take in the movement to slow down the never-ending clockwork inside his brain. The shape of Bitty’s skilled hands in the dough before he presses down, knuckles and fingers and thumbs and Jack can’t take his eyes off those hands at their natural, determined work.

For his part, Bitty become aware of him slowly and then suddenly, glancing over once and then glancing over again with a face so comical that Jack almost falls over laughing.

‘Hello!’ Bitty exclaims, blinking down at him and Jack grins, loving everything; the quiet, the sun streaming through the window, the fact that they have another day, another weekend together, just the two of them.

‘Bonjour,’ he chuckles, pressing their foreheads together, before slipping around behind and wrapping Bits up in his arms, leaving his hands free to continue kneading, propping his head on his shoulder, humming softly in his ear and occasionally murmuring words of French – words Bitty probably can’t understand but the affection in every syllable is clear as day. Bitty chuckles, but manages to focus. Finally, because he needs to call Georgia and message Tater, who likes to hear how he’s settling in, he makes to leave, but not before he swoops down and presses a firm, soft kiss against Bitty’s neck that makes him squirm, ticklish. Smiling against the curved skin, Jack nudges the spot with his nose and then leaves to find his phone.

*


End file.
